


Dynasty

by Yobotica



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 07:43:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17076200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yobotica/pseuds/Yobotica
Summary: Written for the Day 5 prompt: Home, for the Assassin's Creed Fandom Events 2018.Where things go slightly different in the temple, and Desmond gets to go home - only, not as he'd imagined.





	Dynasty

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by [Caiser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caisar) because she is a lovely human, and an amazing writer!

It was strange, Desmond thought, that even though he'd been gone for over ten years, the scenery as they approached the farm slowly became familiar. Perhaps not so strange, since they were approaching the place that had been his whole world for the first decade and a half of his life. 

It was like slowly remembering the details of a dream you'd been abruptly woken from, but all the more jarring when he saw the ruin that had once been his home.

He glanced over at his mom, driving the beat up Jeep they were using. He'd wanted to badly to see her, before, but... Not like this. 

She had aged, of course she had, but she was still undeniably his mother. There was much more gray in her hair than there had been when he run away, but the strength of her form, the determination in her eyes - these hadn't changed. 

When he'd woken up in the hospital, after the temple, she'd hugged him for a solid five minutes, and Desmond had hugged back as fiercely as he could. 

Then he'd looked for his father, and... 

Desmond glanced down to the urn his good arm curled protectively around. It was a generic urn, provided by the funeral home. It wasn't going to be his father's final resting place, so it hardly mattered if it was nice. 

In the temple, his father had shoved him aside after Juno's proclamation, had, without a word, tried to take Desmond's place to activate the Eye. He'd shouted from the pain, and Desmond knew it wasn't going to work, could see that whatever it was Desmond possessed in his genes, his father simply didn't have enough. 

So he stepped up, placed his right hand on his father's shoulder, and his left hand on the Eye. 

The pain had been like nothing he'd ever experienced before. His hand was badly damaged, hell, his whole arm was, all the way to the elbow. 

They had doctors running tests, had taken image after image, scan after scan when he'd been out of it, but there were no answers yet as to how - or even if - he would heal. So they wrapped it up and gave him a sling and told him to come back after - after the funeral. 

Not that there was going to be a service. Rebecca and Shaun were in the back of the Jeep, silent and somber, and there was another car behind them that held three more Assassins. 

These were some of his father's closest friends, not that he'd know. It wasn't that he thought his mother was lying, it's that he was bitter he wasn't learning this from the man himself. 

His arm tightened around the urn as the car came to a gentle stop. Shaun took it from him as Desmond awkwardly climbed out of the Jeep, and didn't give it back once Desmond was out. It wasn't really surprising; the urn was big enough that holding it in one arm wasn't comfortable, or all that secure - and looking at the Farm as it was now, there wasn't a lot of even ground for them to walk on. 

The Templars hadn't just burned the place, they'd destroyed it first, had torn down the buildings before torching everything. 

Desmond was told they'd left the bodies where they'd fallen, many buried under the burning rubble. And even though they'd been certain the Assassins here were dead before the place was set alight, Desmond could hate every Templar for this alone, if it weren't for all of the other monstrous things they did. 

But _this_ had been his home. He'd hoped, privately, that he could come back some day. He'd always hoped that, had even talked himself out of returning a thousand times when he'd been on the run. 

But not like this. 

Even with the place in ruins, Desmond knew exactly where his house had been, and carefully led the way. His mom was talking to the other Assassins that had pulled up, and gathering the shovels and hand tillers before following. 

There wasn't even a beam left standing where his home had been, just charred material scattered about. He wondered how they'd done it, how long it had taken to destroy everything in the small community, but decided he didn't care. He could see, in some of the ashes, small plants starting to grow, reclaiming this dead place for themselves. Well, there'd be a little more ash for them to use, he supposed. 

He hadn't taken his father for a sentimental man, and yet, here they were. 

His mother caught up, and the group moved through, to where their back yard had been. They found a spot with little rubble, and the others cleared a patch, four feet by two. 

Then they started digging. They weren't digging a hole, not really, just loosening and turning the dirt. There was only silence as Desmond's mother crouched down to pour the ashes over the already-ashy soil. Desmond wasn't ashamed of the tears that were suddenly making his way down his cheeks, but he didn't break the silence with sobs - he'd already done that, before. This was a silent goodbye, and anyway, his weren't the only cheeks that were wet. 

Once done, she spread the ashes slowly over the area they'd turned with her hands. Then she stood, and grabbed one of the hand tillers and got to work. Desmond couldn't help, not with only one working hand, left to watch solemnly alongside Rebecca and Shaun and one of the other Assassins, a man whose name he hadn't remembered since meeting him yesterday. 

It didn't take long at all before the turned soil looked almost as it had before they'd added his father's ashes, which, well, was the point. 

This was also why they were marking his resting place with a headstone of sorts. Rebecca had carried it in her pack, and unwrapped it and handed it to Desmond. 

It was awkward with only the one hand, but he stepped up to the soil, crouched down and dropped the stone as gently as he could in the center of the grave they'd made. He let his hand linger, rubbed the initials of his father's name that they'd engraved, before he stood. His mother followed his actions, crouching down and letting her fingers caress the only marking they'd allowed themselves. 

It was surprisingly intense, and Desmond couldn't name the emotion that was clawing its way up his chest. He didn't want to break the silence, though, so he suppressed the worst of it and just let the tears come as they would. 

Rebecca gave him a hug from the side, and when she stepped away, even Shaun came close and did the same. 

His mother lingered, but when she finally rose, the Assassins who had come with her started making their way back to the cars. Rebecca gave him a last hug, and Shaun nodded as they followed. 

Desmond's mom came to stand next to him, and took a deep, shaky breath. 

Desmond hated the silence ethat followed, so he cleared his throat. "I, uh, never expected dad to be so... sentimental," he said, the most neutral way he could think to convey there was a long time he hadn't even thought his dad had loved him. 

But his mom smiled. "I know," she said. "I wish I'd known then," she added, but this was ground they'd already covered in their first conversation in over ten years. "I expect the same," she added, raising her brow expectantly at him. 

He laughed, because he'd entirely expected that from his mother. "I promise," he answered. They both knew that it might be one he couldn't keep, but they also both knew that if he had even the slightest hope of keeping it, he'd move the earth to do so. 

"He was proud of you," she said, after a moment, moving to lean against him. She barely came up to his shoulder, now. 

He snorted, though, because his father hadn't sounded much of pride the last few weeks. Even when he'd been rescued from Abstergo, he was berating Desmond - though Desmond had been so relieved to have his father back that he hadn't bothered starting another fight over it. 

She nodded, and when Desmond glanced over at her, he could see that she was smiling. "He was," she said. "He was proud - even if you left, he was impressed that you avoided both Abstergo and his own efforts to locate you. He knew he'd taught you that, and even if you were gone, you were as safe as he could have made you." 

They hadn't covered this ground, and for a moment, it felt like the earth dropped from beneath his feet. He had used those lessons, of course he had, but he'd never thought about them as a mark his father had left on him, as the result of his father's efforts to protect him - a common refrain to most of Desmond's least favorite memories. 

He thought he'd succeeded in spite of his father, but.. It was only at this moment that he realized he'd done so because of him, instead. 

His mother must have sensed something, because she pulled away. "Oh, Des," she said softly. "I know he rarely showed you the way you needed to see, but he did love you. He was proud of you. Always - never doubt that!" 

Desmond felt his chest clench on that feeling again, and let himself label it as it was - grief. He knew it was fine to grieve a distant father who never loved him, but that had felt like weakness. 

This didn't. 

He placed his arm over her shoulder, and then turned so he could hug her properly. For all that she was shorter than he, when she held him close and cried, he felt like he was the one being sheltered. 

He couldn't tell how long they'd been there, crying softly over everything they'd lost; every past, every future that revolved around the man whose ashes were now inextricably mixed with the earth at their feet. 

Eventually, though, they did have to move. The others were waiting by the vehicles, and for each of them, there were hugs from their friends, everyone somehow finding fresh tears. 

His mom wanted to return in the other vehicle, with her friends, and Shaun stepped up to drive the Jeep they'd arrived in. He had to be helped into the passenger seat, but Shaun didn't even start the Jeep when he got in - he let Desmond look at the Farm for a while, taking in the remains of his childhood home, and the final resting place of his father. 

"You ready?" he asked, after some time, and Desmond nodded. Took a deep breath, and then glanced over to Shaun with a shaky smile. 

"Yeah," he said softly. He didn't look back, but he knew he'd return one day - hopefully, far, far in the future. He knew what his mother was asking, and when it was time, her ashes would mix with the same earth, her initials added to the same marker. 

And one day, when it was his time, maybe he'd return here, too. Near his family, his home. 

He was, he mused, a little sentimental, too.


End file.
